


100 Themes in the Underground

by startraveller776



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, Ficlet Collection, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 05:16:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20577080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startraveller776/pseuds/startraveller776
Summary: A collection of drabbles and one shots all related to the pairing of Sarah and Jareth. Various Genres. (Ratings and warnings in each chapter notes)





	1. Obsession

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: T  
Genre: Drama, Dark  
Summary: She has defeated him, but never forgotten him. And that’s just the way he wants it.

**OBSESSION**

_Everything that you want. _

A careless promise tossed at her in the climax of her adventure. Mere words meant to distract her. A temptation she was too young to comprehend. But it lingers, hidden in the dusky corners of her mind until she is old enough, until she experiences enough heartache, disappointment, frustration.

She clings to the belief that everyone suffers, that no life is perfect, but his promise is there each time she closes her eyes. It seeps into her skin, becomes the air she breathes, the blood in her veins. She wants to run, but can she flee that which has become a part of her?

Too afraid to call for him, she finds herself in cobwebbed bookstores, perusing cracked-leather tomes with sepia pages. Searching. Always searching. For understanding. For him. There are only pieces, incomplete hints of a mythical king who steals away with babies. He is folklore so ancient he has nearly passed out of memory.

Her reality narrows to her research. It takes her to the countries which gave birth to every myth, every legend. She walks the moss-covered stones of crumbled castles, explores every enchanted forest, every mystical hillock. She rakes her fingers over the dewy grasslands of Ireland, stands in the fog beneath the dilapidated pillars of Stonehenge, and finds only half-heard whispers which disappear when she turns her head.

Days, weeks, months, years pass, unnoticed. She lives two lives. In one, she is a distracted artist whose paintings grow darker, more desperate in stark reflection to her own despair. In the other, she is an orphan of magic, barred eternally from a world so vibrant all else was grey in comparison. The former feels like the dream, lacking any substance while the fantasy seems as tangible as he had been standing just inside her parent’s bedroom window that terrible night.

He _is_ real. He has to be. And he had offered her _everything_.

Except she can’t find him.

Every morning, she promises herself she’ll stop searching; she’ll sell her books, pick up a new style of art. Anything to forget him. Anything to anchor herself to this world full of traffic jams, toasters, and coffee shops. By nightfall, she has broken her promise after finding some new website about goblins or discovering a hidden reference in some obscure fairy tale of a magical king with wispy blond hair.

She dreams of him, his shrewd eyes studying her as though she is some puzzle he’s determined to crack. He holds in his gloved fingertips not her crystalline dreams, but golden threads—slender cords which stretch toward her like snakes uncoiling. She wakes, screaming. And yet, there is a part of her that wants to let him entrap her, bind her to him—and that frightens her even more.

Her friends stop calling and her family worries. Her obsession is becoming poisonous, but she can’t stop. He won’t leave her alone. The ghost of his breath stirs her hair as she paints. She feels the heat of him behind her when she gazes up at the velvety sky, secretly hoping for the flutter of white wings. He whispers to her each night as she lies in bed, hoping to dream of him and hoping she won’t.

_I ask for so little_.

He is there again, waiting with slender fingers steepled beneath his chin. When their eyes meet, his grin pebbles her skin with gooseflesh. His presence is overpowering, magnetic, drawing her to him. She should fight this—fight him—as she had years before. But there is no baby brother to rescue this time, no purpose to strengthen her resolve.

_So little_. The words wind around her along with the gilded filaments flowing from his fingertips. Such a small price to pay for everything. She lets them come, even as her heart thrums audibly. The threads caress her as they coil up her arms. They vibrate with power and she holds her breath. She wants this, doesn’t she? She can’t remember.

His eyes darken with triumph, and with a flick of his wrist, he yanks her to him. He tips her chin up, grinning as he leans down. The cords twine around her throat.

_Mine_.

She screams until she awakens in her tangled sheets. She screams until her voice becomes raw and hoarse. It’s more than hour before she realizes it was only a dream. It should have no meaning, but she knows better when it comes to the King of the Goblins.

The bonfire in her backyard burns bright and high, crackling, sweltering, fed by dozens of paintings and books. She doesn’t care that some of the tomes are priceless first additions; her only desire is to purge him from her life. He is a viper and she dared to get too close, too easily swayed by his silver-tongued promises.

She picks up a slim red volume, the tiny book that started it all. _The Labyrinth_. A place of magic and peril. She hates that she misses it, with its gnarled gardeners, valiant knights, gentle giants, and wicked kings. Her hand quakes as she tries and fails to toss the book into the flames. She wants to be free of the fairy tale; she wants to be possessed by it. The weight of her indecision bows her shoulders, and she weeps.

“Poor little Sarah,” comes the whisper in her ear. She spins to face her nemesis, her tempter. He tilts his head, traces a tear down her cheek, and tastes it.

Her fear makes her want to step back but perverse desire compels her toward him. She doesn’t move. “You can’t be here.”

He smiles. “Oh, but I can.” In her periphery, there is a glint of gold—threads that travel from his fingers to her arms—but when she looks at his hands, she finds only a glowing crystal. He holds it up. “Do you want it?”

_No_. The lie sticks in her throat. “Everything,” she whispers instead, bringing her eyes to his. “Did you mean it?” It is the answer she has sought all these years—the seed of her obsession.

“Perhaps,” he says with a small shrug. “Or perhaps it was merely a ploy.” He steps closer, forcing her to crane her head to keep her eyes on his. “Now, I am quite sincere.” His tongue drags across his lip.

She turns away from his hungry gaze. “Why?”

“Because, Sarah,” he says, stretching out each letter of her name as if to savor it, “_I_ am everything that you want.”

She shakes her head in denial, but the truth of his statement cuts through her, steals the air from her lungs. “No,” she croaks. “I don’t want it.” She pushes the crystal away. It vanishes, and he captures her arm.

“But you already took it,” he says, drawing her hand to his lips. He kisses the inside of her wrist and, with eyes closed, presses it against his smooth cheek.

She shivers, resisting the urge to splay her fingers into his feathery hair. He is all things dangerous, and she wants to touch him—taste him.

He opens his eyes, pulls her to him. “You’ve eaten the pomegranate seeds, Persephone.” His gloved hand rises between them, revealing the golden threads from her dream. “You let yourself be seduced by Death,” he leans forward and whispers against her cheek, “and now you’re _mine_.” His lips brush against her neck.

Horror tightens around her like his cords. She understands now why she couldn’t find him in the ancient tales. He is in them all. He is Hades, Osiris, Azrael, Pluto… He rules the Underground—the Underworld. She frantically claws at the threads, tries to break them.

He grasps her hands, holds them between his effortlessly. “Don’t defy me.” He kisses her then, with every hunger, every passion of an immortal who is as old as time. She staggers beneath the onslaught, tears coursing down her cheeks. But she doesn’t fight him because he is right. She wants this, wants him like an addict craves the slow poison of drugs or alcohol.

He did this to her. He tricked her into eating the peach, and it awakened in her an attraction her pubescent heart couldn’t understand. The seeds were planted with that dance, nurtured by his silky promises and her curiosity turned fixation. And now, he has come to harvest his crop.

He breaks off the kiss, and she hates herself for feeling bereft without his touch. He wipes away her tears. “Don’t weep, Sarah,” he murmurs. “It’s only forever. Not long at all.”

With the echoes of his laughter, Sarah Williams vanishes from the world of traffic jams, toasters, and coffee shops—eternally.

**~FIN~**


	2. Gray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What price are you willing to pay to save a loved one?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: K+  
Genre: Drama, Angst  
WARNING: Character Death, though there is a resolution

**GRAY**

Rain slapped against Sarah’s umbrella, spilling over the edge in a steady stream. She thought it appropriate that the gray skies were weeping the tears she no longer could. Which stage of grief was this cold numbness, she wondered. Acceptance? Denial? Something in between, perhaps.

Water pooled in the grass against her boots as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Her legs were growing stiff as the priest droned on about those who inherited the kingdom of God. Sarah barely heard his words, her focus instead on the too-small casket under tented poles. A bouquet of daisies rested atop the dark mahogany—her favorite flower. And because they were her favorite, they became Toby’s favorite too—as much as any boy fascinated with bugs and Transformers could have a favorite blossom.

Just last weekend, she had come home from college to celebrate her brother’s eighth birthday—with lots of candy, cake, ice cream, and a trip to the video arcade. She ruffled his blond hair, which he hated, while he told her about his new high score on Super Mario Bros. He’d been so energetic, so _alive_.

And three days later, he fell climbing the old oak tree in their backyard. He was trying to get a soccer ball out of the branches when he lost his balance. Death had been instantaneous. He felt no pain, the coroner had told the family with reassuring tones—as if that knowledge would make this all less horrifying. It didn’t.

A motor sounded, muffled by the downpour, and Toby’s casket lowered slowly into the earth. The small crowd lurched forward to throw flowers into the grave. Karen wept noisily, clutching Sarah’s father as he stared on. Pain, in various forms, tightened the features of the friends and extended family in attendance—pain and sympathy, though could any of them really understand? Or did they mourn the tragedy while secretly relieved this was not a cross they’d been asked to endure? Somewhere in Sarah’s mind, a voice whispered she was not being fair—but what did she care about fairness anymore?

She returned hugs, accepted condolences mechanically—not hearing, not feeling. Her thoughts were in the ether as they returned to the cars, as they entered the house with a retinue of grievers and a kitchen full of food. Why did people bring food to a funeral? Sarah couldn’t eat, and by the way Karen pushed her green bean casserole around with a fork, Sarah guessed her stepmother shared her sentiments.

When the group began sharing memories of Toby, ostensibly because her brother would want them to celebrate his life rather than lament it had been too short, Sarah slipped away upstairs to her room. Her chest constricted as a flood of images washed over her—of Toby’s lopsided smiles, of tickle fights and story books. She could hear his one-year-old voice attempting to say her name for the first time. Rahrah.

She recalled keenly how she had fought for a harrowing ten hours to win him back seven years ago. Had it been worth it, in the end?

She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as warm tears rolled down the sides of her face. “I wish…” she whispered, choking on the word she’d forbidden herself for so many years. “I wish I could switch places with Toby.” Never had she wanted anything more.

“You can’t.”

Her heart quivered nervously at the voice she hadn’t heard for so many years. A part of her knew that when she said “I wish,” she risked the attention of her former nemesis—a part of her was afraid he wouldn’t care even if the words reached him.

“Why can’t I?” She rose slowly, drying her wet cheeks with the back of her hand. She brought her eyes up to meet his. The King of the Goblins was as beautiful and terrifying as she remembered, exuding devastating power even as he lounged gracefully against her vanity.

He scrutinized her with a sharp gaze for several breaths before answering her question. “Because, contrary to legends and myths about me,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest, “I don’t deal in _death_.” He spat the last word as if the idea was repugnant. “And the one who does… Well, he doesn’t accept trades.”

Bringing a hand up, he studied his fingers as if only mildly interested in their conversation. “I’m afraid, Sarah, that you are condemned to go on living.”

A sob bubbled up her throat, but she swallowed it down, refusing to cry in the presence of the unfeeling monarch. “Would you have turned him into a goblin?” she asked, leaving another question unspoken. Would he have been better off?

The king looked at her, his mouth a thin line. Silence stretched between them as she waited for his response, the quiet suffocating her with each heartbeat. Against her instinct to shrink, to flee, she held his gaze, willing him to tell her the truth—no matter how unkind.

“I don’t know,” he said finally, glancing away. He plucked a photograph taped to the vanity mirror. It had been taken a year ago, just after she and Toby had left the face-painting booth at the fair. She was a cat and Toby was Optimus Prime. “I don’t know how he would have been transformed by my kingdom.”

“But he would have lived.” Fresh tears burned in her eyes as she thought of the coffin descending down, down, down.

“Yes,” Jareth answered flatly, setting aside the photo. “Would it have been the life you wanted for him, though?” He straightened, taking a step toward her. “I’m not entirely certain you would have called that existence _fair_.” There was a ghost of bitterness in his tone.

His words stung as if he had slapped her. Did he really think she was the same petulant teenager? Was that how she appeared to him now? “Maybe I wouldn’t have,” she returned, lifting her chin with the temerity she had never quite grown out of. “But under the circumstances, any kind of living is better than…not.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a mocking grin as he took another step forward. “Is it? Tell me, Sarah, do you find this particular type of _living_ to be better than the alternative? I seem to recall just minutes ago you wishing yourself dead.”

She glared at him, angry at his flippancy. “You’re twisting my words, Goblin King.”

“Hardly,” he said, now close enough to her that she had to crane her neck to keep her eyes on his. “You still overlook the consequences of your wishes. Still such a child. Pity.”

Sarah wanted to spit in his face for his callousness. How dare he accuse her of being some insolent girl? Her brother—the only person she had truly loved—was gone. And Jareth would play these games with her! But then, hadn’t he always been this way? Mocking, uncaring, selfish—cruel. Punishing her defiance at every turn—even stealing her time.

_Time_.

A quivering thread of hope overtook her. “I wish,” she began softly and grew louder with each word, “the Goblin King would turn back time, before Toby’s accident. Right now.”

Fury contorted Jareth’s features, and with lightning speed, he grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her as he spoke. “You stupid, foolish girl! Do you believe I wouldn’t have done it already if I could? You understand _nothing_!” he bit out. “I would reorder time—move the very stars—a thousand times over to save him for you.”

She blinked at him, disturbed by his vehement confession. “Why?” Her voice sounded so small in her ears.

Jareth abruptly released her with a sigh. “My magic is bound, Sarah,” he said, not answering her question. He stared down at her with such intensity her skin pebbled with goosebumps. “By you.”

His quiet words stole the air from the room, and she felt dizzy with understanding. _You have no power over me_. Battle worn and terrified, she had uttered that line and, for the first time that horrible night, felt triumphant.

And the same sentence which had saved Toby had also doomed him.

She swallowed thickly. “What if I take it back?” When he didn’t answer, she asked again, her voice cracking in desperation. “What if I take it back?”

Jareth shook his head, his mouth tightening in a frown. “As I said, you understand nothing.”

“_Can_ I take it back?” She hated the vulnerability in her tone, but she was on the precipice of either falling forever in grief or flying with the knowledge she had done everything she could to save her brother.

“Yes.” He stared unblinking down at her, derision teasing at the corners of his lips again. “For a price.”

“I don’t care what it costs me—not if you bring Toby back.” Her heart hammered against her ribcage as she waited for the final verdict from Jareth, knowing the mercurial king could decide not to help her at all.

He let out a mirthless laugh. “Oh, you will care very much, impetuous child.” Cupping her chin, he leaned toward her and murmured, “If you’re so determined, then say your right words.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, blood pounding in her ears. “I wish that I could undo…” Her words trailed off at the sudden breeze that stirred her hair.

“Just fear me, love me, do as I say, and I will be your slave.”

She opened her eyes, and Jareth stood before her, the remains of his castle floating impossibly in the air behind him. He stared at her with expectation and something undefinable drawing taut the pale skin around his mouth. She sucked in a sharp breath when she realized she’d been taken to the very moment she had rendered the king of the goblins powerless against her—and powerless to help Toby.

“My kingdom is as great.” The statement came from her of its own volition and fear seized her. “My kingdom is as great,” she repeated. No! It was as if her teenage will was too strong. She wrestled with herself even as her mouth began forming the words which would ultimately kill Toby.

“You have—” She cut off, clamping her mouth shut. Confusion flickered across Jareth’s face. “You have to send my brother back.” The adolescent within her who had just conquered the goblin city screamed at her, clawed at her to regain control.

Jareth raised an upswept brow. “Do I?”

“I’ll do what you want, if you send him back—and protect him.” Fifteen-year-old Sarah was horrified, but adult Sarah would not recant. She had wished to die in Toby’s place; this bargain couldn’t be much worse.

“Done.” Jareth held the crystal out to her with an ominous grin.

She raised a quaking hand and touched the cold, smooth surface of the globe.

And was suddenly back in her room, everything as it was before—even the intimate way the king of the goblins held her face between his gloved hands. She still wore the same black dress as she had worn to the funeral, and she was afraid that she had changed nothing with her wish.

And then, down the hall, she heard the most beautiful sound.

“Mom!” Toby shouted, his voice closer with each footfall. “Can I go to David’s house?”

Sarah pushed past Jareth and flung open the door. Her brother, whole and alive, jumped at the sudden movement. He blinked at Sarah, brow furrowing. “Sarah? What are you doing here?”

She grabbed him, wrapped her arms around him, nearly weeping at his solidity. “I’m here to see you, Tobes.”

Her brother grunted. “You’re squishing me.”

Laughing, Sarah released him and held him by the shoulders as she studied every inch of him. There wasn’t a single hair misplaced, and tears of elation swelled in her eyes.

Toby scrunched his face. “Why are you being so weird?”

“I just had a bad dream,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s nothing.”

“Oh, okay.” He shrugged as if the explanation was good enough for him. “I’m going to David’s house. See ya!” And with that he was bounding down the stairs, hollering for his mother again.

Sarah watched him go, her cheeks wet with staggering relief. She felt the warmth of Jareth at her back and whispered, “He’s safe.”

He made a noise of agreement. His feathery hair tickled her cheek as he said against her ear, “But you are not.”

Chills inched up her spine, fanning out across her skin like crawling spiders. Her price. She was afraid to ask what it was, what he had cautioned her against. “Will I ever see him again?” The new ache swelling in her chest told her she already knew the answer.

“Only from afar,” Jareth replied, his lips grazing the shell of her ear. “You asked only that I protect your brother. You never asked to have a life with him.”

“And you won’t let me have that.”

“On the contrary,” he murmured, sliding a possessive hand down her arm, “I’ve been generous. I gave you seven years with the boy.” He spun her to face him. “I warned you about the consequences of your wishes. What’s said is said.”

She wanted to hate Jareth for barring her forever from her brother, but the pain of this separation paled in comparison to the alternative she had already suffered. At least Toby would go on living, even if she no longer had a part that life.

She sighed in resignation, looking up at the man who had become Toby’s savior and her warden. “What will you do with me?”

Jareth’s lips curved up in the corners with a feral smile. “You’ll keep your end of our bargain.”

_I ask for so little. Just let me rule you…_

_Just fear me, love me, do as I say…_

“I have ever been your slave.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her against him. “And now, you belong to me.”

His words echoed in a space transformed into the stale, impersonal paisley of a guest bedroom, leaving behind no trace of the headstrong girl who would pay any price to save her brother.

**~FIN~**


	3. Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah’s having a little problem, and unfortunately, Jareth is the only one who can help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T  
Genre: Humor (maybe?)

**MAGIC**

It was everywhere, stuck to everything. In her hair, seeping into her skin. No matter how many times she washed her clothes, she could smell it, feel it.

Everything she touched glittered with a luminescence only she could see. She didn’t notice it at first, not for a few years. She had been so relieved to make it out of that place alive and with her little brother in tow, it had never occurred to her there would be consequences—even for winning.

By the time she was twenty-five, when she looked in the mirror, she glowed so brightly that it was impossible to put on make-up anymore. She tried wearing sunglasses, but trying to put on mascara had been a complete debacle. She gave up after that. Au natural it was.

When her hair started glowing, however, Sarah decided it had reached past the point of ridiculous. Sighing, she faced her vanity, wearing extra-dark sunglasses and, with resignation, said one name: “Jareth.” 

As soon as the word left her lips, the air around her constricted as if the world held its breath in anticipation. There was a faint pop and a breeze stirred her hair. 

“Well, if it isn’t Sarah Williams.” 

She spun around, pulling off her sunglasses, to find the Goblin King lounging on her bed, one booted leg crossed over the other. He was just as she remembered him—but wasn’t at the same time. There was the aura of mischief about him, maybe slightly villainous, but he seemed more complicated that a mere nemesis. And while she had thought him handsome as a teenager, as a young woman, she could appreciate, grudgingly, his smoldering danger. It was as if everything about him dared her to come have a taste. She stepped back in unconscious defiance. 

He cocked his head, studying her with piercing eyes. “Hm. I can see why you called.” 

Sarah crossed her arms. “Yep. Care to explain, Goblin King?” 

Jareth stood, closing the short distance between them. He cupped her face in his hands, tilting her head from side to side. His hands were warm, even through the gloves. His thumbs caressed her cheeks, hitching her breath. 

“Why did you wait so long?” he asked, making no move to release her, his expression severe. 

She wanted to back away from his touch; it felt too intimate coming from her childhood antihero. And yet, the cells in her body tingled, reaching toward him, aching as if he had been her lover long parted. 

“Forgive me for hoping it would go away on its own.” She narrowed her eyes at him, even as goosebumps slid over her skin. He splayed his fingers through her hair, pulling a lock to his nose, and inhaling deeply with half-lidded eyes. 

He glanced up at her with a smirk. “Afraid to call on me?” 

Her jaw clenched. “Of course not.” She tried to back up, but the vanity blocked her escape. 

His smile broadened. “No?” 

“No.” She reached up, wrapping her fingers around his wrists, intending to pull his hands out of her hair, but somehow the memo got lost between her brain and her arms. “You have to admit, though, you don’t have the best track record for being nice.” 

Jareth snorted. “Oh, yes. Always the villain in your eyes.” He flipped his hands and was now holding her wrists. 

“Can you blame me?” Her voice was a little breathless. Inside, a battle was mounting. Her rational mind begged her to side-step him and run; he was wild, crafty. Something deep and primal wanted to crush her lips to his, to make him hers. 

He gave her a half-shrug, but didn’t answer her question. Instead, he dropped one of her hands, inspecting the other as though it held the key to the mysteries of the universe. He turned it over, massaging her palm with his gloved fingers. 

“You want a cure.” He glanced up at her. 

Sarah nodded. “Only if it doesn’t mean another run through the Labyrinth or something.” 

His lip twitched into a half-smile. “No,” he said, amusement tingeing his voice. “Wouldn’t want to risk you destroying my castle again.” 

She smiled in spite of herself. “Yeah, I’m dangerous like that.” 

“Hm.” He raised a brow, still stroking her hand. “Indeed.” 

Again, she felt her entire being strain to touch him. No, more than that—to consume him, to be consumed by him. She shook herself. Jareth grinned, his eyes searching her face as if he was aware of the internal war she fought. 

“There is a cost, precious.” He drew the pet-name out, the word seeping into her skin. 

She took a deep breath, stifling the tingles growing in her middle. “What would that be?” 

He didn’t answer for a moment, his unusual eyes locked on hers. Everything became still as she waited. 

He released her hand, bringing his fingers to her face again. “I have a secret for you.” He leaned forward, placing his cheek against hers. The contact was electric. Sarah closed her eyes, breathing in his peculiar scent—a mix of loamy earth and spices. 

“I _am_ the villain,” he whispered. “I did this to you.” 

Sarah’s eyes flew open. “No!” She shoved him away. 

He gripped her shoulders. “I always play to win, Sarah—no matter how long it takes.” He stepped back, pulling her with him. 

“How?” She struggled to break free, but he was immovable. 

“Don’t you recall,” He said, grinning, displaying his pointed teeth, “the words of your little red book? ‘And he gave her certain powers.’” He set her on the bed as if she weighed nothing. Her acute awareness of his strength sent a wave of cold chills down her spine, mingling with the warm desire still spreading throughout her body. 

She shook her head. “But I didn’t ask for them.” 

“Aw.” He gave her an exaggerated pout as he stood over her. “Are you going to say it isn’t fair?” 

She glared up at him. “If the shoe fits, Goblin King.” 

“Oh, indeed. It fits quite comfortably.” He let out a sharp laugh. “I could take them back. All you need say are five little words—such a small price to pay.” 

“What words?” Why did she still want to kiss him? 

He picked at his gloves, his expression bored. “These: ‘You have power over me.’ Harmless, really.” 

Sarah scoffed. “As if!” Harmless? Yeah, right. She leveled her gaze at him. “What ‘certain powers’ did you give me?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He smirked. 

She ground her teeth. The jerk wasn’t going to tell her. She knew he wouldn’t budge, no matter how she cajoled, begged, yelled or threatened. He didn’t want her to know, which meant they were potent. She would have to try a different tactic. 

“What would you do, if you had power over me?” 

His smirk became licentious. “Oh, I have many ideas, Sarah dear. Shall I give you a preview?” 

Her imagination supplied her with plenty of possibilities, none of which involved clothing. She scooted back away from him. “I’ll pass, thanks.” She almost couldn’t say the words. 

“Pity.” His eyes traveled the length of her body, penetrating each centimeter. “Such a pity.” 

Sarah shivered. “Why me?” 

“I could ask you the same.” He leaned against the bed, his thigh touching her leg. 

Sarah frowned. “Me? I never chased after you. I’m not trying to entrap you.” 

“Oh, you haven’t?” He brought his knee up on the mattress. “You haven’t thought of me? You haven’t dreamt of me?” 

Sarah’s face burned as she remembered certain dreams. “Not when you gave me these supposed powers.” 

“But you did,” he said. “Little Sarah Williams secretly wished the Goblin King would rescue her from her ordinary life. She wished him to show her a world filled with magic. She dreamt of him, even when she had no face to put with the name. She wanted him with all the innocence of her youth. She wanted a happily-ever-after with the being others would call villain.” 

He moved closer. “So, I ask you: why me?” 

She stared back at him, remembering those moments as a little girl when she romanticized the King of the Goblins. She had imagined him to be beautiful and powerful. But she didn’t still want him, did she? “I…I don’t know.” 

Jareth sighed. “My answer is the same.” He lay next to her, resting his chin in his hand. “But unlike you, I choose to embrace whatever force draws us together.” 

Sarah snorted. “Isn’t that force you?” 

“No.” He twirled a lock of her hair. “Although, I might have enhanced it.” 

She batted his hand away, scowling. “You are a cheat.” 

“I suppose I ought to have wooed you, courted you like a gentleman.” He wrapped his arm around her waist. “That’s what a hero does, isn’t it?” He pulled her next to him. “But you forget, I’m no hero. I’m not bound by any code of honor. My soul sings for you, and if I have to cheat to make you hear it—and to make you hear the song your soul sings for me—then I will cheat. I will move the stars. I will turn the world upside-down to win your heart.” 

Love? Was he talking about love? Was it possible for him to feel love? It was too overwhelming to consider. “So, you meant for me to glow?” 

His expression grew flat. “That was an unforeseen side-effect.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Great. Nice work, Goblin King.” 

He pursed his lips. “I can’t be brilliant all of the time. It’s far too taxing.” He dropped to his back, stretching like a cat. His shirt opened further to expose more of his pale chest. 

Sarah swallowed, turning away. “I guess I get to glow for the rest of my life. Eventually I’ll be blinded. Thanks for that.” 

“There is another way, though I’m sure you’ll find it as agreeable as the first option.” 

She glanced back at him. “What is it?” 

“We could merely consummate the bond.” He dragged his fingers up her thigh. 

“What!” she squeaked. She cleared her throat.

“Bond? What bond?” 

He shrugged. “That is what I enhanced—the inexplicable bond between our souls. I…hurried it along.” 

Her mouth hung agape. “We’re bound together?” Sarah wanted to stop the world and get off for a while. She wanted space to think, to make sense of this… this… What? She didn’t know. 

“Let me get this straight, the only way I get to look in the mirror without giving myself a retina burn is either give you power over me, or sleep with you.” She laughed mirthlessly. “You win either way.” 

“Fancy that.” He grinned. “What will you choose?” 

“Right now?” 

“You could wait, of course, but your aura grows brighter by the hour—the minute, in fact.” He rose from the bed. “I wouldn’t take long in deciding, if I were you.” He smirked. “You only delay the inevitable.” 

“What? Making mad, passionate love with you?” Sarah snorted. 

He smiled, shaking his head. “That is part of it, yes. But the forgone conclusion, precious, is a life together.” He reached down, stroking her face. “Only forever.” 

He lifted her chin, and before she could react, pressed his lips over hers. Her body became a live wire with the contact, volts of pleasure, want, need, hunger swept through her, searching for grounding. Her skin prickled from her scalp to her toes. It was so intense, she thought she might die, and yet, she wanted more. She wanted to spend the rest of her life in this kiss. 

In quick staccato, there was a series of pops, crashes, and through her lidded eyes the world dimmed. Jareth drew back, his face bathed in the moonlight streaming from the window. 

“Perhaps our next encounter should be at my place.” He flashed his teeth in a feral grin. “Your world cannot handle the magic we create together.” 

Sarah glanced around the room and saw the shards of glass from various light bulbs. 

Jareth kissed her forehead. “And Sarah,” he said, “do remember my name is Jareth.” With a cloud of shimmering glitter, he disappeared. 

She touched her lips with a quaking hand. Across the room, the vanity mirror reflected a supernova so brilliant it lit the room. 

Was there a choice left to her? Had there ever been a choice, even before he had meddled? Sarah laid back in bed, groaning, her arm over her eyes. She silently cursed whatever deity had set this up. 

“Fine,” she murmured. “You win, Jareth.” 

A warm body pressed against the length of hers.

“Wise decision.”

**~FIN~**


	4. The Trouble With Roommates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On her 26th birthday, Sarah’s roommate gives her a disconcerting gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T  
Genre: Humor

**THE TROUBLE WITH ROOMMATES**

The problem with advertising for a roommate, Sarah thought, was often the people who came to interview were more suited for an insane asylum than sharing her living space. But she couldn’t shoulder the rent on her spacious two-bedroom apartment, and she was not about move out of the high-end neighborhood because she would rather live alone.

And so she suffered through meeting with the dregs of society, endured coffee with a vampire deathmetal fanatic who wanted to know her blood type, sighed through lunch with a man who insisted he was gay but stared at her breasts through the entire meal, rolled her eyes at applicants who claimed to merely be between jobs—if she would just let them move in without a first month’s rent, they were good for it.

Finally, after days spent sifting through applications, she found Renna, a free-spirited hippy who was a successful jewelry designer. At the end of their first meeting, Sarah handed her a set of keys and told her to move in whenever.

In retrospect, Sarah realized Renna appeared stable because all the others had been raging lunatics in comparison. There had been red-flags Sarah overlooked—Renna’s boundary issues, her belief that all jewels were secretly mined by dwarves enslaved by the gemstone industry, just to name two—in her desperation not to lose her apartment. Over the months, Sarah did her best to ignore Renna’s disturbing behavior, and learned to lock her bedroom door at night.

Sarah, however, reached her limit on the day of her twenty-sixth birthday.

“Happy birthday!” Renna squealed as soon as Sarah stepped through the front door after a long day of rehearsals. Renna leapt at her, crushing her in a bone-cracking embrace.

Sarah pushed her back. “Thank you,” she said. “I think I’m just going to make some tea and curl up with a good book.”

“You can’t do that!” Renna looked appalled by the notion. “We have to celebrate! I made you a vegan chocolate cake, and wait until you see your present!”

Sarah sighed. She really did want to curl up with a good book and a cup of raspberry tea. But if eating eggless cake and opening a present would get Renna off her back, then she would do it. “Okay. What did you get me?”

Renna stepped aside and exclaimed, “Ta-da!”

At first, Sarah didn’t notice any gifts in their living room—until she looked up. “Oh, no.” She gasped at the birdcage hanging from the ceiling. On the perch sat an owl. A very sullen-looking white barn owl.

“I know, right!?” Renna squealed. “I was going to make you an owl pendant, since you seem to like them. But then, I found your diary.”

Sarah turned to her roommate, her eyes growing even wider. “You _what_?”

“Okay, I know that’s a no-no,” Renna said, backing away with her hands up. “But I really, _really_ wanted to get you the best birthday present ever, and you never told me what you want. Can you blame me for resorting to extreme measures?”

“You read my diary?” For a heartbeat, Sarah hoped this was all a dream—a horrible, horrible dream. The things she’d written in her diary were never meant to see the light of day, let alone lead the capture of an all-powerful, wily Goblin King.

Renna cringed. “Yes?”

Sarah worked her jaw before she could manage a response. “Do you know what you’ve done?” She grabbed Renna by the shoulders and shook her. “_Do you know what you’ve done!?_”

“Don’t you want him?” Tears pooled in Renna’s eyes. “You wrote in your diary—”

“I know what I wrote!” Sarah took a deep breath, trying to quell the storm of rage and fear building within. “Those were my _private_ thoughts. You do understand that he’s—” she pointed to the cage, “— not just an owl, right?”

Renna wiped the tears from her cheeks and gave Sarah a flat stare. “Duh.” She pulled a twig from her pocket. “I had to use a rowan wand to catch him. And the cage is made of iron.”

Sarah buried her face in her hands. “He’s going to kill us. He’s going to drown us in the Bog.”

“But didn’t he fall in love with you?” Renna asked, patting Sarah on back. “I don’t know why you’re freaking out. This is win-win.”

Sarah let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “No. That was just a ploy he used. And even if he did, I’m pretty sure he hates me now.” She sagged against the wall. “I have to let him out. And we’re dead when I do.”

“Maybe we should have the cake first?” Renna gave her a weak smile, clearly not understanding that these were their last minutes on earth.

Sarah considered it. She might as well have a slice before she met her demise, right? Only, Renna was not a good cook—at all. “No, let’s just get this over with.” She grabbed the wand out of Renna’s hand and snapped it in two.

Sarah’s footsteps were shaky as she walked up to the cage. The owl stared her down as she opened the latch. She jumped back as soon as it was released, covering her face when the bird flew at her. Her life flashed before her eyes. The nights she spent reading to Toby. Her scriptwriting career taking off. Her reconciliation with both Karen and Linda. It had been a good life, albeit short, one with very few regrets. Too bad it was all over now.

Glitter rained down as the air constricted and expanded. Sarah lowered her arms, her heart galloping in her chest. The Goblin King stood before her as he had eleven years before, bedecked in black armor and a frayed cloak. Instead of the mocking grin he wore at their first meeting, his face was twisted with terrifying fury. Sarah backed away from him, wishing she could make herself disappear.

“First,” he said in a calm voice as he turned his fiery gaze on Renna, “I think I’ll turn that despicable creature into a goblin and bog her for the rest of eternity.”

Renna whimpered.

“And _you_.” He whipped his head around and glared at Sarah. “You turned my subjects against me.” He advanced on her. “You destroyed my castle. And now _this_?”

Sarah squeaked when her back touched the wall. She lifted her chin in an attempt to hide her mounting terror. “In my defense, you did steal my brother and make me run the Labyrinth,” she said. “And I had nothing to do with this.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Still insufferably defiant, I see.” His lip curled in a sneer. “You never learn, Sarah. Perhaps I should teach you—_break_ you of your headstrong ways.” He braced his hands on either side of her, caging her. “Yes, I believe I shall start by taking you.”

She waited for several quivering heartbeats for him to explain further. He was so close, smelling like new earth and springtime. The intensity of his gaze made her stomach do a queasy flip-flop. “Where?”

He lifted a pale brow. “Any sturdy surface will do.” The fury was gone from his eyes, replaced by the promise of every carnal pleasure ever imagined.

Sarah’s knees almost buckled.

“See?” Renna said, clapping. “Win-win!”

“Quiet, wench!” Without breaking eye contact with Sarah, Jareth threw a hand back and Renna disappeared in a puff of sparkles. He gave Sarah a frightening grin. “Shall we begin?”

She shoved away the memories of her dreams where Jareth looked at her this way—as though she were a succulent meal he was about to devour. “No,” she said with a cracked voice. She cleared her throat. “Never.” She brought her knee up.

He captured it between his legs before she could do any harm. He tsked, running a finger across her jaw, sending a chill down her spine. “A worthy, if futile, attempt.” He leaned forward, grazing his cheek against hers, and whispered, “Do your worst, little Sarah. I intend to prevail.”

She closed her eyes with a sharp hiss when his lips brushed her ear. She was torn by opposing desires. She wanted to sink into the wall—through the wall—and escape his overwhelming presence. She wanted to knot her fingers in his hair, press up against him, and let him win. Over and over again.

He pulled back, his laughter seeming to echo throughout the apartment. “Perhaps I ought to pardon that roommate of yours. She did provide me with this unparalleled opportunity.”

Sarah mustered up some indignation—though it was difficult with her body chanting, “Kiss him! Kiss him!” She pushed against Jareth’s chest and gave him the dirtiest of dirty looks. “I’m not defeated, yet.”

“Oh no, of course not.” His smile broadened. “It would be incredibly dull if you succumbed as easily as other women.”

Sarah scoffed. “What? You have a lot of ladies parading through your bedroom? I’m not going to be another notch in your headboard, Goblin King.”

“I see.” Jareth’s expression turned serious. “However, since we’re already here, you’ll forgive me an attempt to persuade you otherwise.”

Sarah looked over his shoulder, her jaw dropping.

Behind him was not her living room, but a large chamber with a huge canopied bed in the center. She touched the wall at her back, unable to believe Jareth had whisked her away when he wasn’t supposed to have any power over her. Her breath hitched when her fingertips met with roughly-hewn stone instead of the smooth plaster of her apartment.

Jareth had changed as well. No longer clad in his tattered armor, he wore a loose white shirt, opened to the waist, exposing his strange amulet and his smooth chest. His breeches were still indecently tight, tucked into black boots. The most startling difference, however, was his hands. They were gloveless.

No, no, no! This couldn’t be happening! “You can’t do that,” Sarah said. “You can’t just take me wherever you want.”

“And yet, I just did.” The corner of his mouth turned up in a half-smile. “Oh, did you believe I had no power over you? I suppose I did leave you with that impression at our last encounter.” He tilted his head. “Did you truly think I had any desire to keep a squalling babe and his petulant adolescent sister— especially after she decimated my kingdom?”

Sarah glared at him. That had been _exactly_ what she believed, but she wasn’t about to admit it.

“You _did_, didn’t you?” Jareth threw back his head and laughed.

She tried to knee him in the groin again, unsuccessfully. “Screw you!”

“Yes, please.” He smirked, leaning into her. “Would you like to do that here? My bed might be more comfortable, though.”

It was so unfair that he could be so pretty despite his obviously shriveled heart. “I thought you didn’t want me.” Dammit, why did she have to sound so breathless?

“I didn’t want the girl,” he said, his eyes sliding down her body then back up again. She shivered. “But now that I’ve met the woman, I most certainly want her.”

“What makes you think I want you?” Sarah tried to back away from him. The unfeeling stone wouldn’t give an inch for her, though.

Instead of answering, he held up a hand. In it was her diary. He thumbed through the pages as he said, “What an interesting read this is. Ah.” He paused and read, “’Sometimes I wished he would have kissed me in the ballroom.’” He flicked through more pages. “And there’s this: ‘I dreamed of him again. He tasted like peaches. His touch was like fire, burning me until I thought I would die in the heat of painful bliss.’” Jareth glanced at her. “Would you like another example? There are plenty to choose from.”

Sarah thought she might die right then—of mortification. “You are the most awful, horrible, evil man!”

Jareth shrugged, the book vanishing from his fingertips. “I prefer ‘deliciously wicked.’” He twirled a lock of her dark hair. “Come now, don’t you want to find out if I do taste like peaches?”

_Yes_. She clamped her mouth shut before the traitorous word could slip out. “No,” she said through gritted teeth. “I’m not some conquest.”

“Yes, you’ve already made that clear.” He slid his hands beneath her shirt and traced lazy designs on her back with his blazing fingers, leaving goosebumps in their wake. She couldn’t breathe. “I said I intend to win, and this time, I believe I’ll play for keeps.”

His words sunk beneath her skin, frightening and alluring just as he was. “What’s the game? Another run through your Labyrinth?”

He glanced up, as though considering her question. “Tempting. However, that would mean risking your victory—and another round of destruction to my kingdom.” His eyes met hers, a chilling triumph already dancing in them. “I’ve got a much better plan. In the next thirteen hours, if you find a way out of my bed, I’ll release you. Otherwise, you become mine forever.”

Sarah snorted. Thirteen hours? Like any man had that kind of stamina—even magical immortal kings. “What if I don’t play?”

“Oh, but you must.” He clasped his chest in feigned horror. “Unless, of course, you want me to win by forfeit.” He grinned. “It would be an easier victory, but not nearly as entertaining.”

“But that’s not—” She cut off before she could finish the sentence. Damn him! She was a calm, wellspoken woman, and somehow, she’d reverted back into a whiny teenager in his presence.

“_Fair_?” He drew the word out with a sardonic tone. “Your persistent belief that I would have anything resembling honor is rather quaint. Now,” he said, pulling her against him, “shall we play? Or have I already won?”

She wanted to scream, to pound her fists into his chest. No matter what he said, this wasn’t at all fair. Stupid, stupid Renna! Sarah took a little comfort in knowing her nosy roommate was now condemned to a life of squalor and idiocy as a goblin.

“Tick-tock, Sarah,” Jareth murmured, tipping up her chin. “Make your choice.”

Sarah rolled her eyes. There was only one choice. “Fine. We’ll play.” Her middle flared with heat when the words left her mouth. She was going to let him seduce her. She opened her mouth to take it back, to find another out, but Jareth pressed a finger to her lips.

“What’s said is said.” He gave her a wolfish grin. “We only have thirteen hours. Less talking, more ravishing.”

He brushed his lips over hers, gently at first, and then hungrily—as if he were unleashing years of pentup tension. Or was it her who was caving to secret desires? Kissing him in real life was a thousand times more intense than it had been in her dreams. If he hadn’t been holding her, she would have collapsed to the floor in a pile of jello as she was overwhelmed by the most acute yearning she’d ever experienced in her adult life.

Sarah was doomed. Stupid Renna!

**~FIN~**


	5. Something New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olgrath the Goblin doesn't usually notice things. But today he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Rating:** PG/K  
**Genre:** Humor, Crack

**SOMETHING NEW**

Olgrath doesn't often notice things; it usually makes his head hurt. He prefers to drink and belch and throw food at his friends--and steal human babies. The last is his favorite. He likes when the king lets him and his friends be _more_ than they are. More fierce. More frightening. Haunting in shadowed corners. More intelligent. But there aren't many babies to steal anymore, so Olgrath drinks and belches and doesn't notice things.

Except that today he does.

"What?" Virang asks in a dull voice next to him. "What you staring at?"

Olgrath doesn't move when a ball of slop splats against the side of his helmet. Other goblins cackle behind him, but he ignores them. "Is that a new chicken?"

Virang follows his gaze to the throne where the king lounges sideways, one leg propped up against the armrest, the other draped over the seat. The fair-haired monarch dances a crystal ball back and forth over a gloved hand, and Olgrath has to tear his eyes away from the hypnotic movement before he becomes entranced. Instead he points to the fowl at the foot of the throne. It's not white and small like the others, but bigger, brown. It flaps its wings, squawking loudly at the king who rolls his eyes and murmurs something beyond hearing.

Virang waves his hands dismissively. "Bah! A chicken's a chicken." He stumbles away, muttering under his breath.

Olgrath moves forward. Because it looks like the king is talking _to_ the new chicken. The king _never_ talks to chickens. Something in Olgrath's fuzzy brain says this might be important. He steps over drunk goblins, kicks a few hens out of the way, and finally makes it within earshot of the king. The new chicken flaps its wings again, squawking in several angry bursts.

"We've already established what I think of your idea of _fairness_," the king says, sounding bored.

The new chicken screeches and makes as if to peck at the king's leg.

The king nudges it back with his boot. "Idle threats, precious thing. You made your choice and you know the terms. Unless you're ready to submit..."

_Precious thing_. That seems important, too. But Olgrath can't make the pieces fit together.

The new chicken squawks in rage, flying onto the throne, ready to claw at the king. But he catches the creature with ease and gently sets it back on the ground. The king is _never_ gentle with goblins or chickens. Olgrath scratches his ear in confusion.

"It's a no, then? Pity." The king laughs softly in a way that makes Olgrath's insides come to life with the Thrill. The king only laughs like this when he's in the mood to do Wonderfully Bad Things. "Since you're so adamant, you had better run along and play with your new feathered friends. Knowing your obstinate nature, they'll be your companions for a long, _long_ time." He gestures toward a cluster of hens pecking at the refuse on the court's stone floor.

The chicken lets out a sound of defiance.

The king rises out of the throne, dropping the crystal, and towers over the creature with his hands on his hips, suddenly wearing his terrible, black armor. Olgrath is giddy with anticipation. The rest of the throne room falls silent as red eyes turn toward the king.

"Sarah, Sarah, Sarah," he says to the chicken.

Hushed gasps ripple through the crowd of goblins. Sarah. The girl who ate the peach and forgot everything. Olgrath's mouth falls open, and he retreats back a step. Not her! But then, she wasn't a chicken, was she? Olgrath scratches his ear again.

"You cannot bait me with your paltry insults," the king goes on, his grin turning marvelously diabolical. Olgrath's confidence is restored. "By all means, do find a way to rescue yourself from this predicament. I look forward to your attempt at retaliation. Though, I do hope you avoid getting eaten before then." He laughs long and loud, but cuts off abruptly.

His mismatched gaze whips to his subjects. "Well?" he prompts.

Olgrath and the others force out laughter until the king silences them.

He turns back to the brown chicken. "Now, be a good little hen and _shoo."_

The chicken squawks violently, but the king ignores it as he sits back on his throne.

Olgrath doesn't quite understand. Wonderfully Bad Things did not happen. Or had they already and he missed it? Too many questions for his little brain. But he thinks he'd better stop that chicken before the king gets annoyed and bogs everyone nearby. He steps forward and grabs the creature, hardly feeling its beak poking frantically at his leathery skin. The king glances at him with shrewd eyes, but doesn't stop Olgrath's retreat.

"Careful," is all he says.

Olgrath nods. He's pretty sure the king doesn't want this chicken eaten, no matter what he said earlier.

The chicken pecks furiously at him. It tickles.

"I think, maybe, chicken races."

**~FIN~**


	6. Certain Powers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Seelie have come to wipe out humankind, but what no one knew was that the king of the goblins had fallen in love with a mortal girl and had given her certain powers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Rating:** T  
**Genre:** Dark-ish, Drama, AU (kinda?)  
**WARNING:** Some violence, but typical for a PG-13/T rating

**CERTAIN POWERS**

Sarah slings her bow over her shoulder and places her hands on twin gilded doors. She sees the muck caked on her skin, the streaks of reddish-brown. She’s no longer bothered by the blood on her hands. Figuratively and literally. Memories of life before the wars have become gauzy—desaturated illusions of Sunday dinners with her parents, visiting the arcade with her brother, cramming into the early hours with her study group at the university. That was all a fantasy. Since the Sidhe emerged from their secret places and descended upon the ignorant mortal world with breathtaking slaughter, grim survival has become the only reality.

She glances behind her at the ragtag band of soldiers commissioned by the king of the goblins. She doesn’t know how long it’s been since she stood before him in his decaying throne room and demanded his aid. His lips curved up in a mocking grin as his gaze dipped in scabrous appraisal of the fully grown woman before him. How, precisely, was he to help the one who had bested him, he asked in sardonic tones.

_I’ve already given you everything, Precious._

But he hadn’t, not yet. She drew the sword strapped at her waist, the metal whispering against the leather scabbard. Lead bullets were worthless against beings who wielded magic. Iron in all its incarnations—including steel—were the only weapons humans had. She pointed the blade at him with a useless threat swelling on her tongue, but he heaved a sigh in resignation before she could let the poisoned words loose.

“As ever, I am your slave.”

He led her through a maze of corridors and down a spiral staircase until her legs cried out in protest. Light grew in increments with each step she took until it became a searing brightness. She squinted, threw an arm across her bleached vision when at last the ground leveled out. Jareth was a grey silhouette as he removed his gloves, letting them drop away from him. He turned to her, hands outstretched. A stuttering beat passed and then another before she decided to trust him. She slid the iron rings from her fingers, and they hit the ground with echoing plinks.

His palms were soft, cool to the touch, and his slender fingers curled over hers in a firm grip. He murmured a lyrical incantation in the tongue of his people—Sidhe like the cruel demons Above, but different. She’d learned about the Seelie and the Unseelie. It was the former committing genocide against humans for nature’s scars. 

“I thought the Seelie were supposed to be good?” her young brother had asked in a terrified whisper sometime after the massacre began. Toby received a hard lesson that day along with the rest of humankind. Light and darkness had nothing to do with good and evil. The Unseelie remained neutral in the conflict; they would aid neither side. In truth, she was surprised that Jareth was helping her at all.

His voice rose in pitch as pain etched lines in his ethereal features. A howl filled the chamber like a gale-force wind, but the air whirling around Sarah merely ruffled her hair, brushed against her skin in a soft kiss. And then she felt it, the vibrations humming through her flesh and bones building to an agonizing crescendo. She tried to wrench her hands away from him, tried to sever the connection that was surely going to tear her to shreds, but he held fast, yelled his chant louder over her screams.

Her knees cracked against the stone floor, and the blinding luminescence winked out. The stillness that followed was so perfect that Sarah thought she might have died. But she gulped a shuddering breath and blinked opened her eyes. Jareth knelt across from her, one palm on the ground, the other pressed against his chest. She stared at the amber glow haloing his slender fingers and wondered briefly if that was the reason he wore gloves.

“I return them all to you, Champion. Do with them what you will,” he rasped, drawing her gaze up to his sallow features. “Now, _begone_.” He flung a hand toward her, and a force yanked her backward, wicking the air from her lungs.

She woke in a field, surrounded by men and women in ragged clothing and tattered armor, all eyes on her. _Red_ eyes. When she pushed up onto her feet, they withdrew from her in concert. A hushed whisper rippled through them, and it took her a moment to hear the words. _The girl who ate the peach and forgot everything._ One by one, they lowered themselves prostrate before her.

Jareth had given her his goblin army, restoring a semblance of their humanity in the exchange.

She remembered them as bumbling idiots during her run of the Labyrinth. Fierce, persistent to a fault, but stupid. Now, though, there was obvious intelligence in their abnormal gazes. She could work with that.

It wasn’t until a month or two later when she marched into battle with her motley ranks that she learned of the other gift the Goblin King had given her, what he’d given _all_ of them. She and her army were impervious to magic. The Seelie had to face her hoard with only sword and sinew and wit, and they were ill-prepared for the combat. She watched their masks of casual arrogance fracture with each successful assault she met against them until those masks gave way to dread.

She beat them back, made them pay blood for blood for the lives they’d stolen.

Her fellow humans have taken to calling her by the moniker Jareth gave her—the Champion. Even her stepmother and brother now speak to her with reverence and awe. (Sarah’s father succumbed in one of the early assaults, leaving grief festering like an open wound in the hearts of those he left behind.) Her enemies have named her the Harbinger, though what she is supposed to herald changes with each skirmish. Pain, destruction, _death._

Her once-goblins call her Queen. That, too, is catching on among the mortals.

At night, after the maps are rolled up and her generals have retired to their tents, she sinks her weary bones onto her simple cot. Sometimes she cries—though not as often as before. She mourns the loss of the carefree girl she’d been before she could stick a blade in another living being without flinching. She wishes she could unsee what she’s seen, undo the terrible acts she’s had to do to save her people from extinction.

Jareth has come to her in her dreams—not always, but enough to make her question his presence as more than a simple manifestation of her troubled subconscious. He collects a tear from her cheek and, with head tipped to the side, asks her why she weeps. There are other, less tame nighttime encounters where he makes her forget the gritty apocalyptic world she lives in. She wakes from those with gasping breath, sweat glistening on her skin.

Each morning, she steps back into her role of indomitable warrior. There’s more than a baby brother at stake in this neverending gambit.

On the brink of defeat, the Seelie have finally discovered the origin of Sarah’s power. They think they can exact retribution against her. She’s come to prove them wrong.

At the grim nods of her loyal officers, she turns back to the doors that span up several feet above her head and shoves them open. Inside is a magnificent hall of redwood trees lining a path toward the throne. The vaulted ceiling is a canopy of branches woven together, leaves spinning languidly in golds and reds. Sunlight filters into the gallery in soft amber, and it’s a jarring contrast to her world of violence. 

Sidhe stand on either side of the walkway, uncanny gazes laced with disquiet, with loathing as she and her companions pass. Sarah rolls her shoulders back, tips her chin up in defiance, intent on the raised dais ahead. A pair of thrones, shaped from the same redwood, sit on the pinnacle, but only one is occupied. She keeps her eyes on the Seelie king, ignoring the chained figure bent prostrate at the base.

She doesn’t bow and Egon doesn’t rise, only wears a caustic grin on his striking face. She might have called him beautiful once, but now she considers impossibly symmetrical features like his monstrous.

“Ah, the Harbinger—or is it the ‘Champion’?” he asks, his baritone deceptively mild. “Or perhaps you prefer to be addressed as ‘queen’ now. One hears so many things, it’s difficult to discern the truth of them.”

Sarah holds her tongue, refusing to be baited by him.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” He holds up a finger. “Wait, let me guess. You’ve come to see my latest trophy.” He gestures toward the man kneeling at his feet.

Sarah finally looks, and Jareth lifts his head to meet her gaze. He’s stripped to his breeches, iron manacles circling his wrists and ankles, his neck. Where metal touches flesh, his skin is cracked and papery, a brilliant crimson against his otherwise jaundiced pallor. His expression is devoid of emotion, a mirror to her own, but she doesn’t miss the ragged movement of his chest.

“When the Unseelie learned of his treachery,” Egon says, “they were eager to offer him up as payment for his crimes against us. I was going to put his head on a pike, but I think I’ll keep him as a pet a while longer.” He leans forward, grabs the silver rings attached to the end of Jareth’s chains and yanks.

Jareth hisses, muscles pulling taut as he arches his back with a grimace. There’s shuffling behind Sarah, low growls, and she holds a hand out near her thigh, palm facing backward. She glances over her shoulder, gives a slight shake of her head. The goblins will have their revenge soon enough.

“I wonder if they’ll still obey you after I stop his heart.”

Sarah turns back to Egon, the movement slow, measured. “Give the Goblin King to me,” she commands quietly.

Egon raises his brows at her audacity. “You expect me to simply give him to you?” he asks. “No pleading? No bargains? I’d have thought you understood our ways better than that.”

Sarah tilts her head, studies the creature who had rained terror down on her people. She’s not afraid, though Egon is doing his best to intimidate her. She glances at Jareth, and he returns her gaze, lips curling in fervid anticipation—not of what the Unseelie King will do, but of what Sarah is capable of. Her middle flutters from the unwavering faith in his eyes, and she sees beyond the former enemy turned grudging ally. She sees a truth that she’s been resolutely blind to until now.

_What no one knew was that the king of the goblins had fallen in love with the girl… _

“You want a bargain?” she asks Egon. “Give him to me, and I’ll let you live. Those are my terms.”

“Did you hear that?” Egon says to his court with derision. “How very generous the Harbinger is!” He lets out a loud, brittle laugh, and the other Seelie join him.

Sarah shares another look with the imprisoned Goblin King, returning the faint grin he wears. She waits until the laughter dies off—until tense silence weighs heavy in the great hall once more.

“Beware,” she warns, “I’ve been generous until now.” She hears a voice in her mind, a murmured memory from another life. _But I can be cruel._

“Oh, _have_ you?” Egon sneers at her, rising from his throne at last. “How have you been generous? Was it when you burned through acres of rainforest? When you filled the sky with your poisoned smoke? When you hunted animals to the point of extinction?”

She’s unmoved by his accusations. These are not her crimes, and she tells him as much.

“No?” Egon says with sour disbelief. “Only willing to take credit for the butcher of the sovereign keepers of this world, then?”

“As willing as you are to take responsibility for the near annihilation of my people,” she returns coolly. “Should we have knelt down and stretched our necks for you when you declared war on us?”

“Yes,” he says. “You are a blight upon the earth, an infection that needs to be rooted out.”

Sarah shakes her head. This is an argument she’s heard more than once during this conflict, that humans had to be stopped before they could utterly destroy the lands, the seas. But she’s come to know this assertion for what it is: a flimsy justification for a brutal holocaust. This war hasn’t been about saving anything. It’s about _power_—the same as every other war in history.

“Then let’s end this once and for all,” she says with more bravado than confidence, but she’s not wrong. This _has_ to end, even if it means her death.

“Here?” 

Again, Egon is surprised by her boldness. Again, she catches Jareth’s smile in her periphery, and her heart thrums with building adrenalin. No, not adrenalin. Something else entirely, uncoiling inside of her as if from a long sleep. It’s a thrill both new and familiar.

“Yes,” she answers as cogent understanding sweeps away what’s left of her earlier trepidation.

She raises a hand, flicks her wrist, and watches Egon’s eyes grow round as a crystal orb appears on her fingertips.

_…and he had given her certain powers._

_I’ve already given you everything, Precious._

Sarah flings it at the ground, and an invisible force throws Egon and the other Seelie backwards in a concussive blast. She charges the dais, sword drawn. Behind, her soldiers dash to face the courtiers before they can recover. Egon has barely made it to his feet when Sarah is slashing the blade at him. The sharp edge slices through his waistcoat, but falls short of giving him any real injury. Still she comes, using her momentum to swing the butt of her hilt into his face. He stumbles, and she sweeps the back of his legs with her foot.

She’s behind him when he falls, knotting a hand in his long hair to jerk his head up. “You should have taken the bargain,” she says to him before her sword bites into his throat.

She leaves his body to crumple to the ground as she scrambles over to Jareth. Her fingertips glow the same brilliant gold his once had, and she hesitates, worried for a second that his iron manacles would now burn her to the touch. But no, she isn’t Sidhe, no matter what he’d done to her. His gaze follows her as she tugs at the pins, willing the metal to move for her.

Once free, he grasps her face, pulls her forehead to his. “Sarah,” he whispers. “Sarah.”

But there’s still the clang of blades in the gallery, the feral shouts of her army, the answering yells from the Seelie. She rises, faces the melee.

_“Enough!”_

Her voice booms, amplified by the magic Jareth had gifted her. All eyes turn to her, swords and daggers falling slack.

“Who is the heir?” she demands. When no one answers, she asks again with power: “Who is it?”

Gazes dart almost in unison to the man beside her. Jareth stands, somehow regal despite his sickly features, his state of undress. He glances at her, a smirk playing on his mouth.

“I suppose I ought to thank you for dispatching my wretched half-brother,” he says.

Sarah nearly laughs. Because the years of hell she walked through has somehow culminated into _Jareth’s_ victory. But she’d rather him on the throne than another Seelie bent on vengeance.

“Do you surrender?” she asks him.

He bares his teeth in a wide smile. “Long ago, Precious.” And then he addresses his new subjects. “Swear fealty to your new king and queen, or suffer death.”

Despite the hatred twisting the otherworldly faces of the courtiers, they concede, tossing weapons down, kneeling, murmuring the oaths.

Sarah looks at Jareth, brow raised. “Queen?”

“You didn’t think this would end any other way, did you?” Jareth asks, sounding inordinately pleased with himself despite the languor in his gravelly baritone.

She hasn’t thought about it before, not since she was an adolescent obsessed with fairy tales. He still unsettles her; he’s still so staggeringly _inhuman_. Then again, she is too.

“Now,” he says, drawing her out of reflection, “shall we see to the recreants who thought to trade my life in the name of self-preservation?”

She considers it, considers picking up her sword and fighting on through the exhaustion that now seeps through her flesh. But that isn’t her battle, just as her clash with the Seelie wasn’t his—not until Egon took him captive.

Instead, she caresses his cheek with glittery fingertips, leans in and presses her lips over his. There is more to this kiss than the magnetic force always pulling them toward one another. There’s more than the remembrance of his hands leaving marks on her hips during her fevered dreams—marks that lingered for days on her skin. The hum builds in her bones, and she whispers unfamiliar words against his mouth. He laps each one with a sweep of his tongue.

She wields the spell clumsily, imperfectly, but it’s enough. Soon his head is resting on hers as he shares her serrated breath.

“I gave them back,” she murmurs, smiling. “Now, begone.”

He laughs softly. “As my master commands,” he says. “When I’m finished—”

“You’re coming for me.”

“I’m coming for my queen.” He gives her a soft kiss in farewell before vanishing.

She glances at the great hall, empty now save for the bodies of the fallen. She’s tempted to collapse onto one of the thrones, to weep until she has no more tears, but she needs to return to what’s left of her people. She needs to give them something they haven’t had in so long.

Hope.

She leaves the sword behind as she jogs toward the gilded doors. The war is over. The Champion can rest.

**~FIN~**


End file.
